


only the lonely

by bleuboxes



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Human, Christmas Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Mostly because I can, Pre-Relationship, anyway s/o to the doctor who marathon on bbc america for helping me write somethin, barista Clara, breif mentions of jemma simmons from agents of sheild, clara oswald makes rash decisions, i really truly appreciate it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 15:18:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8995108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleuboxes/pseuds/bleuboxes
Summary: Clara's trying to convince herself that it's worth it - that spending the Christmas Holiday without her family is going to be fine. The festive group of three sitting at the the table in front of her isn't really helping much.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theshippingprince](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theshippingprince/gifts).



> merry christmas lads!!!!! i got hit with a truck filled of inspiration for these two bc like, i've been watching nothing but doctor who for three days
> 
> hopefully its up to snuff.  
> the title comes from a frank sinatra song :-)
> 
> happy holidays to all of y'all!!!!!!!!!!!

Clara Oswald is quite used to the monotony of working in a coffee shop.  Everything is as to be expected – the strange people that enter – from the hipsters and punks to the sleep decrepit college student that comes in at three in the morning in ill attempt to get another research paper done.

Really, nothing surprises her anymore.

That is until the Wednesday before Christmas.

It’s quiet; most of the college kids have gone home to visit family or friends; the other people are surely doing Christmas things, but not Clara.

Her boss is your regular Scrooge, and even though the _Cuppa_ is doing just dandy, Missy still wants the damned place open. And, well, Clara would much rather be celebrating the Holiday with her Dad and her Gran, but she’s a little short on money at the moment and she’ll take what she can get.

She has a busy morning, when the majority of last minute shoppers come in with the rosiness of the cold on their cheeks and bags upon bags in their hands. The smiles on some their faces when she hands them their order almost makes up for the fact that it’s the first Christmas that she isn’t going to be with her family.

(She’s lying; if anything, it makes her feel worse.)

 

 

* * *

 

She’s getting ready to close up shop when he walks in.

As first impressions go, it’s fairly forgettable.

He’s dressed rather strangely, but it’s nothing out of the ordinary – he almost looks like he could be from Victorian London or something; Clara just assumes he’s one of those cosplayers or something. He orders a ridiculously sweet coffee (it’s honestly more sweetener and other flavorings than the bitter tasting liquid) and sits down for an odd eleven minutes and reads from the most tattered book she’s ever seen before getting himself together and heading out.

 

* * *

 

 

He comes in the next day too, this time during the morning rush with all the even more last minute shoppers. He’s still got a bow-tie on, but this time instead of paying attention to what he’s wearing, she tries to study his body (in the innocent, curious manner that Clara often studies people).

He’s tall – nearly a foot taller than her – and lanky. His face is lean and angular, with eyes of the most peculiar shade of blue-green she’s ever seen and a freakishly large chin. His hair is a dark, chestnut shade and almost touches the collar of his shirt.

If she’s being honest, she finds him rather handsome.

But Clara’s rarely honest anymore, so she moves on with his order as if he’s just some ordinary bloke.

And, you know, she almost manages to convince herself that he isn’t some anomaly and of course, that’s when everything goes to shit.

 

 

* * *

 

It’s Christmas Eve, approximately twelve twenty-seven in the afternoon, the man with the bow tie and the dog-eared book have been sitting at a window for at least an hour; she tries not to pay him any attention.

Her tactic working until two people enter in obnoxious Christmas sweaters that Clara secretly finds adorable. They’re quietly whispering to each other (as most people who are caught up in each other are). They each get a peppermint mocha, and make their way over to the sitting man.

They are loud, brash, and they are happy; they are everything that Clara has been telling herself she doesn’t miss.

At least this time, she doesn’t try to tell herself otherwise.

It’s strange, she thinks how she feels. Clara isn’t usually even a holiday person (it’s all commercialized anyway; she really only cares about the principal of being kind to others and visiting with family.)

She doesn’t realize that she’s wistfully staring at the group of three until the woman with the red hair is inviting her to sit with them.

Clara would like to, but she really doesn’t want to impose; they’re all having such a lovely time with each other.

There are about seven excuses Clara has as to why she cannot go over to their table, but they all blow out to the wayside as the red-haired woman climbs over the counter, grabs Clara’s hand, and pulls her from behind the counter and to the table.

She introduces herself as Amy, the man in the other Christmas Sweater, as her husband Rory, and the peculiar man in the tweed as The Doctor.

Clara wants to inquire as to why he’s called “The Doctor”, but she’s only just met these people and she hardly thinks that's included in correct table etiquette.

Either way, she introduces herself. These people are welcoming and kind (and also a little bit bonkers, but as Amy explains, that’s what happens when you hand out with a man who calls himself the Doctor).

And The Doctor, bless his heart, is charming – not that he means to be. He’s just one of those people, Clara thinks, that is willing to go out of their way to make others feel better – and she has the tiniest feeling that it was he who suggested to invite her over (it was just Amy who had to act on it.)

Amy and Rory start talking about their Christmas plans at about ten to two. They’re going to Rory’s dad’s house for a nice little dinner – their daughter, Melody, is apparently super excited because she hasn’t seen her grandad in a long while.

And then the conversation shifts to the Doctor, who’s doing nothing tomorrow because apparently “time is irrelevant” and he can “celebrate Christmas in October” if he wants because it’s impossible to measure abstract quantities.

Clara knows he’s lying, and she knows for some unknown reason that he probably has no one to spend Christmas with.

“I’m not doing anything tomorrow, if you want to pop in my flat; I can make us dinner or something.” She suggests against her better judgement.

“No, no, _no_ ,” he begins in a gentle voice, “I couldn’t –“

“No one should be alone on Christmas.” She smiles. That’s all she needs to say to convince him, apparently, because now he’s smiling and thanking her and kissing her hand from across the table.

 _Good god_ what has she gotten herself into?

 

* * *

 

Christmas Dinner is officially a disaster.

Missy let Clara have the day off from the shop today (because who the hell goes to a fucking café on Christmas day?), so Clara takes advantage of the extra time she’s been allotted.

And by taking advantage, she means completely wasting it on deciding what to wear, and then attempting to cook a turkey and potatoes and everything else _Christmas_ in an hour and a half.

It doesn’t help that the Doctor shows up an hour earlier than she told him to; she really should have seen it coming, though – him being all time is fake and irrelevant and everything.

Soon, they’re both in the kitchen trying to figure out how exactly to cook a turkey, and it’s really, _really not going well_. It will, however, lead to a great story (she hopes).

* * *

 

She gets him talking while they attempt to get the meal put together.

His real name is John Smith. He thinks his name is bland, and when he was seven years old he decided he wanted to be called the Doctor, and the name just sort of stuck. He travels around the world with his trusted blue backpack which is bigger on the inside by some weird feat of "magic". He thinks fish-fingers and custard is something that’s just acceptable to eat. He’s funny and strange and Clara is starting to believe the inclination that she might like him.

He’s _also_ handsome, which is something she’s thought of before, but she’s just coming around to accepting it.

The food is terrible, but they eat it anyway in-between fits of laughter. He helps her clean the dishes and the mess of the kitchen they left in the wake of attempting to make a decent meal.

It takes longer  than she would've liked to clean everything up, but Clara has a blast. Sometime during the clean-up effort, she mentions that she’s been saving up for a trip to America – she desperately wants to see New York – she’s heard wonderful things about the city (and the country at large) from her cousin, Jemma.

Before she knows it, her hands are in his and he’s searching her eyes for something when he asks her to come on an adventure with him.

She should say no – she has only just met the man. And while she did invite him to her flat for Christmas, that’s really quite different than going on a trip across the Atlantic to a foreign land with someone she’s only just met.

On the other hand, it’s her ticket out of the Cuppa, and away from Missy and Nina, and her ticket to new, wondrous places that she has only dreamed of.

She says yes, with a glint on mischief in her eyes, and kisses his cheek.

“Well, I was planning on being in Times Square for New Years, if you’re interested…”

If at all possible, her grin grows even larger (and his, in return). She stands up tall, straightens his bow tie, and responds, “What are we waiting for, Chin, Christmas?”

He laughs.

Perhaps, this is the start of something good. (She’s always been rather fond of Christmas, if she’s being honest, which, she’s starting to realize, isn’t such a bad thing.)

 

**Author's Note:**

> comments/kudos are the TARDIS to my Doctor


End file.
